


Almost As If Possessed

by 4wholecats



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possession, a bunch of oc characters that don't have too much bearing on the plot (they don't have names even), based of python's bad ending, forsyth is GOING GHOST, this is how i deal with tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-16 22:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4wholecats/pseuds/4wholecats
Summary: One morning, after a particularly difficult battle on the Rigel border, Forsyth wakes up underground.(Hopefully a more positive twist on Python's ending if Forsyth dies)





	1. Forsyth Wakes Up From A Dirt Nap

**_Python accepted a knighthood from the One Kingdom, growing into a new man who worked diligently—almost as if possessed by Forsyth. Sadly, he died a few short years later while fighting to suppress a rebellion, his wounds claiming him while he was far too young._**

Of all the places Forsyth expected to wake up, this was certainly not one of them. Usually he would open his eyes and see the ceiling of his tent, or maybe the medical tent, if he’d had a rough day beforehand. He had never woken up underground before.

Of course the first thing he did was panic, and rightfully so. Sure, he had a record of not being able to hold his drink, but he had never buried himself before, at least not that he could remember.

His first order of business was to excavate himself, then possibly yell at Python, since this was probably his fault anyways. This task was surprisingly a lot easier than he expected, and the dirt showed no resistance as he flailed his way through it. What was concerning him, was that there was so much of it. He was definitely going to yell at Python now, because now Forsyth was almost positively certain that this was his doing. He wouldn’t lay down in a hole this deep, no matter how much he drank. 

When he finally reached the surface after several minutes of struggling, he flopped onto the ground, shivering at how cold it felt, even through his armor. He went to take a huge breath of the morning air, and found that he couldn’t. His lungs wouldn’t move. He immediately brought a hand to his chest, the panic flaring up again. He didn’t feel dizzy, and there was nothing choking him, and aside from a dull pain in his back nothing else felt wrong, so why couldn’t he breathe?

Forsyth tugged at the collar of his shirt and tried again, but still, nothing. He absentmindedly wondered if this lightheadedness was because of his panic or because of the lack of airflow, before his train of thoughts careened off their tracks at the sight of one of his hands. 

It was translucent.

He could see the grass below him through his skin.

...That wasn’t good.

A quick look around told him that his legs were also experiencing a similar problem and he dared himself to spare a glance next to him, to the hole that he had just crawled out of. He was both terrified and relieved to see that the dirt looked like it had not been moved in a while, and that there was no visible carnage to be seen. Forsyth looked around the battlefield (for he could now tell that this was indeed a field), eyes resting on a small group of people about twenty yards away. He stood on shaky, partially see-through legs and walked over to their little gathering, hoping for answers. 

He had never really thought about it too much before, but now he realized why people often feel ill on battlefields long after the fighting is over. Not only is there a strong smell of decomposing human flesh, there is also an abundance of ghosts, apparently. Forsyth could tell by their armor that these people were (or rather had been) Rigelian, and approached with caution. One of them spotted him, a young looking pegasus knight, and waved him over.  
“Well, aren’t you a late riser!” One of the other soldiers, an old sage, joked. Despite their banner, none of them seemed hostile. They were all translucent too, and each one was sporting a different fatal injury. The pegasus knight, who had a rather grisly hole in her abdomen, made Forsyth wonder how he looked. He didn’t remember dying, and the once-over he had given himself upon standing up hadn’t revealed anything horrific, so he hoped he looked presentable, not that it appeared to matter. 

They were still looking at him, expectant but friendly, so he opened his mouth and…

Nothing.

He couldn’t talk either? He looked around at the other ghosts gathered around him and his heart sank. His face must have given him away because a dark haired man in a dread fighter’s uniform gave a hearty laugh and clapped him on the back. 

“Don’t worry young man, it’ll come back. It takes some practice to talk without breathing,” the old sage said, clearly having seen this before. 

“Your uniform. It’s Zofian isn’t it?” The pegasus knight asked. She was tall, but she looked young, far younger than Clair. Far too young to be a ghost haunting a battlefield. He opened his mouth again, but resolved to just nodding. He must have looked nervous.

“Now there’s no need to make that face! Our battle is over. You are most welcome here,” the dread fighter said, hands on his hips, leaning casually on one foot. “Though I must admit, looks like you got the nasty end of someone’s lance. A few people’s lances actually. You were quite a sturdy fighter, by the looks of it,” he continued, walking back behind Forsyth and taking a long look at whatever was going on between his shoulder blades. Forsyth reached behind to feel the damage, but his hand was swatted away.

“Let him get those out first,” the sage said. “You’ll feel better afterwards.”

There was a dull sort of sensation near his spine; an almost sort of pain that was very distant and detached, and then the sounds of several pieces of metal hitting the ground. Apparently, ghost lances were still as loud as regular ones, and soon, Forsyth’s shoulders did feel lighter. 

“Wow. That’s… quite a few. Someone really had it out for you, looks like,” the dread fighter said, an eyebrow raised at the six lance heads which now lay on the ground, splintered and damaged beyond repair. Forsyth assumed that he didn’t look much better. 

“Ahh… hhhh….nnn…” Ah. He could make sounds now.

“I think you’re gonna need to give that a few more minutes,” the pegasus knight giggled, bringing a gloved hand to her mouth. Out of his three new ‘friends’, she appeared to be the only one not interested in assessing his apparent spinal damage. He wondered if the dread fighter regretted the friendly clap on the back earlier yet. He tried to speak again.

“Wh..ere?”

“There we go! That almost sounded like something!” The girl encouraged.

“We’re on the border of Rigel, near the Sluice Gate,” said a voice from behind him.

“How lon..g?” 

“Oh I’d say you’ve been down there for about… a week maybe? Perhaps a little longer? It’s hard to tell; I just woke up a few days ago. At least your comrades had the decency to bury you.” The dread fighter reappeared in Forsyth’s field of vision, wiping his hands on his shirt.

Forsyth’s brain started clicking into overdrive. If he was in Rigel, then that meant that the Deliverance was probably already at Nuibaba’s castle, or close to it. He might be able to catch them on their way back. Surely one of the more magically inclined members of the army would be able to help him?

“I have to go,” he said, finally able to form full sentences without too much trouble.

“Wherever to?” Said the sage, eyebrows raised in surprise. “I know we hail from different lands, but you are more than welcome to stay with us! I’ve been here for months helping newcomers such as yourself get back on their feet.”

While the idea of joining a party of ghosts seemed interesting at the very least, Forsyth didn’t belong here. Dead or not, he belonged with Alm’s army. He needed to talk to Python again. He could only imagine how this must be weighing on him. 

“I’m sorry, you all seem to be very nice and I do appreciate the help, but I’m not done fighting yet. I can’t abandon my friends,” Forsyth said, eyes scanning the ground for the biggest chunk of lance he could find. He picked up one that still had a bit of splintered wood on the end and slid it into his belt, just in case. He had no idea if ghost metal would work as a weapon, but if he was about to spend a week walking around on his own he wasn’t about to go unprotected.

He then stood up straight, thanked them again for their time and their assistance, and continued along the field, following the horse tracks and not looking back at the hastily dug, unmarked grave that he had crawled out of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forsyth died in my Classic run and I ran out of Mila turns so I just kinda left him there and now I feel TERRIBLE. So I wrote this! I don't know when I will update, possibly very soon, possibly never, but stay tuned because if I do continue this, Python is gonna get hella possessed by his dead best friend. He's mostly okay with it ;p.


	2. Forsyth Is Not Having Fun On This Field Trip

Forsyth decided on his fifth day of walking that he officially hates this. It’s true that his legs don’t hurt, and he doesn’t have to stop as often to take breaks, and his armor doesn’t weigh him down nearly as much as it did before, but he still hates this. He felt gross, like the blood on his shirt never dried. He was lonely too. Usually, when he would march with the Deliverance, he would have Python and Lukas to bother, but now, he was alone.

He passed through a few smaller towns and villages on his way to Nuibaba’s Abode, but no one acknowledged his existence. He even had the extremely unpleasant experience of having a small child run through him. It felt cold and very, very wrong. He spent an entire day in one of the town’s churches, standing in front of the head Saint and waving his arms, yelling as loud as he could. Apparently not even the spiritually inclined could see him. He did manage to spook a stable full of horses on his way out though, so that’s something.

About halfway through this terrible fifth day, Forsyth got bored of walking, and unconsciously began to hover his way down the road. He didn’t notice that he was about two feet above the ground until he passed over a dog, who could very much see him and was offended by his presence.

After a bit of testing, Forsyth discovered that he can float at a maximum height of about five feet in the air before he started to get dizzy. Levitating is much faster than walking since he could just go right over most obstacles, so he cut his journey time down by an entire day and arrived at the steps of Nuibaba’s Abode in almost no time.

 

* * *

 

Python is not okay. He spent the last three days crying his eyes out, demanding to be left alone by just about everyone, including Lukas and Alm. He threw a book at Sir Clive during a strategy meeting and didn’t even feel sorry about it. People stop bothering him, and he is alone. Now, in the small room he had been given, he sits, he stares out the window, and he thinks.

He considered leaving the Deliverance as soon as the battle at the border was over with. After all, the Deliverance goals of taking back Zofia were accomplished. And now that his closest friend was dead, he really didn’t have a purpose here anymore.

As he gazed out of his small window down onto the steps of the castle, he could have sworn he almost saw a person making their way up the stairs. But then they were gone, just a trick of the moonlight.

 

* * *

 

Forsyth didn’t have the keys to the fortress, so he stood in front of the heavy wooden doors with his translucent arms crossed. He didn’t know the two younger men guarding the doors (not that they would be able to hear or see him anyways), so his only option was to ...go through. Literally through the doors. Even with his minimal ghostly experience, he already knew how much he hated walking through things like walls and doors and _especially_ people. It chilled him in the worst possible way, right down to his partially exposed bones. But he is a ghost on a mission, and there is no way that he’s going to stop just because of a little supernatural discomfort.

Once inside, Forsyth began navigating the narrow passageways, relying on overheard gossip as a map. Apparently, the upper echelon of the Deliverance, as well as Alms most trusted companions, had quarters upstairs. A green haired cleric (had they replaced him already?) passed by him once he reached the top of the stairs and for a moment, Forsyth could have sworn that she looked directly at him. Right into his eyes. But then she blinked and moved past him, throwing a glance back over her shoulder. Maybe there was some hope for him yet?

Not one to stick his head through other people’s doors without permission, Forsyth took to listening very carefully at the sounds coming from inside the rooms. This was easier said than done, but it wasn’t very hard to figure out where Clive and Matilda were staying (if Forsyth still had blood, he would be blushing), and he saw Lukas going into his own room, so he figured that Python must be the next room down.

Again, he found himself staring at a door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? Neither of them resolving any plot whatsoever? Wow I've outdone myself!  
> The next chapter will be where everything really kicks off, I just had to get everyone in one place first :D


	3. Forsyth And Python Play Charades

Python needed to do… something. Something aside from wallowing. He stood up, not even bothering to check himself in the mirror before heading to the door. Maybe if he looked like a disaster less people would try to talk to him. A quick walk around the fortress would do him some good; his legs were aching from sitting all day and he was feeling a little hungry. Most people would be asleep at this hour anyways, so maybe now would be the best time to see if there were any leftover rations at the mess area. He opened the door quietly and slipped out.

Only to hurriedly rush back inside, heart in his throat.

He could have sworn _on his life_ that Forsyth, the same Forsyth that he had buried less than a week ago, was standing in the hall, looking around in confusion. Python had felt exhausted before but he was completely awake now. He wondered if he should go back out in the hall, if the walk and the promise of food was really worth it. Clearly being locked up in his room was making him go stir crazy, so maybe he would just hope the hallucination was gone and run down to the mess area; find some sane people to talk to, acclimate himself, and then take a nice, long, nap. 

He opened the door again. The ghost was still there, but now he was much close to Python’s door and _looking directly at him_. Python barely caught the hallucination’s look of surprise as he slammed the door and fell back onto his bed, tripping over a crack in the stone floor. 

But it seemed the ghost was not limited to the hallway as soon, Python could see the faint image of a hand reaching through the door, followed by an arm, followed by a very disheveled looking Forsyth. The ghost man immediately began wildly waving his arms in every direction, his mouth moving a mile a minute even though he wasn’t making any sounds (or at least none that Python’s mortal ears could hear).

After about a minute of this, Python came to the conclusion that this was absolutely not a dream, and probably not a vivid hallucination either. His dreams about death (especially Forsyth’s death) were far more morbid. He stood up, hands raised in an effort to calm his friend, who was now excitedly hovering about half a foot off the ground. 

“Can you hear me?” Python asked cautiously. Forsyth mouthed something else again, listening intently.

“I can see you, but I can’t hear you. Was that a yes?” Forsyth’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, but he nodded, feet touching the ground again. Why couldn’t Python hear him?

“Am I going crazy? I must be crazy. You were _dead_ last time I saw you. Like, _really dead_. Most of your ribcage was scooped out!” Python was still clearly reeling in shock. Forsyth spun around and pointed at the nasty hole in his back, as if to prove himself. Python pulled a face. 

“Yeah. Like that. So you’re… a ghost?” Forsyth nodded.

“And you came back to find us?” Forsyth nodded and pointed at Python.

“You came back to find me?” Another nod.

Without thinking, Python threw himself at Forsyth, reaching to hug his best friend, but his arms met only air and unnatural cold as they passed through Forsyth’s body. He took a moment to steady himself as his friend hovered over him.

“What are we gonna do man? We gotta tell Lukas! And Sir Clive!” Forsyth crossed his arms in front of him in an X shape, clearly a “no”.

“Why not! They would want to know that you’re okay! Well, mostly okay. That mess doesn’t hurt, does it?” Python gestured back behind Forsyth, who shook his head and mouthed something.

“Well, other people are gonna see you eventually if you stay with us, so might as well get it out of the way,” 

Python would have had a point, if Forsyth hadn’t already tried to make contact with the others. The most he had gotten out of them was a glance or a shake of the head. 

Python made his way over to the door and out into the hallway. Forsyth followed him out, stopping when he found his friend banging on Lukas’ door. The man could at least be a little quieter; it was the middle of the night. 

A sleepy looking Lukas answered, clothes rumpled and hair sticking up in all directions.

“Lukas! Look who I just found!” Python gestured towards where Forsyth was now standing. Forsyth, in the hope that Lukas could see him too, gave a small smile and waved. Lukas squinted and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Python, it’s late, and I’m glad you’re feeling better, but now’s not the time for jokes.” Was his concise response. “Go to bed, we can talk tomorrow. We aren’t marching for a few more days.” Lukas shut the door, leaving a stunned Python and an upset but unsurprised Forsyth standing in the middle of the hall. 

“He couldn’t see you.” Python breathed. “I guess maybe that’s why we shouldn't tell the others?” Forsyth nodded. 

“Maybe we could talk to one of the clerics? Silque and Tatiana must have some sort of knowledge about these sort of things, right?” 

Come to think of it, the green-haired cleric (who Forsyth now knew as Tatiana) had almost looked like she had seen him. 

Maybe there was hope for him yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm way happier with this chapter than I was with the last one. I don't know how many of you have played Transistor, but this is gonna be kinda like that where only ghosts can only be seen by people they are really close to. I'm so glad that a bunch of you like this mess! I'm more of an artist than a writer so I'm sorry if my style is kinda bland (but hey, I'm here to practice!)


End file.
